Hate

Your name. The mere mention of your name evokes nothing but pain and a rising feeling of hatred. These twisted roots of deep-seated darkness seep into everything. It's bored, irrevocably into a place that I thought was already poisoned enough, yet, you continued to take a step into that dark, tainted place. You've made me that much more cynical about the world. As I get older, day by day, it feels like every experience outside of this fortress I live in just makes me question my very existence. Second guessing the motive of everything, I cannot help it. I wish it were not so, I wish I could escape to the days where everything was not so black, but you took that luxury away from me.

Hearing your name, regardless of the mood and tone, it can erase all feelings of euphoria and pleasure and instantly cascade me into streams of despair. Feeling my chest compress and old gashes in my psyche tear open, made fresh, new, and raw again, is something that I am afraid to think may always be there. To feel that weakness, to always feel that crippling anxiety, is something I wish I could escape, something I could forget. They say it's better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all; whoever said that is a joke.

That crippling weight that plasters onto my mind, plunging me of all rational thought and shredding my sanity temporarily is something not even Shelby could do for I can easily hate her. As much as I like her, what once made me weak was instead turned into an overwhelming and over powering anger that motivates me. Do not fret, however, I suppose you would not, for you have created an anger inside of me that rages on in everything that I touch. I workout and tire myself, if only to escape feeling your skin pressed against mine even in my imagination. It sickens me to have that constant reminder of my fragility engrained into my mind.

Then there's the dreams. Not content to just being able to torture me by the mere mention of your name, you haunt my dreams. I see you there, though I wish you were not. I long to taste your skin, to feel your breath, but it eludes me even there. You laugh at me, spitefully, mocking my attempts to try and see you. Three times a week I am privileged and graced with your presence. Three times a week you prevent me from escaping the horrors of reality and let me live in one in a torturous state that is self inflicted. Three times I wake up, disgruntled and unsettled. As much of a masochist as you liked to play, and as much of a sadist as I fancy myself, I must admit that it is you who is the true sadistic one.

You have detached me from all hope, trust, and any semblance of  mental well being. Going into bouts of depression, now having realized how hopeless the world is, what is there to be happy to look forward to? Breaking all trust, where am I to turn to when I cannot even look inward any longer unless I wish to feel the same pain but self imposed? With all of these imbalances, am I really well?

If anything, I do just have to trust you for reminding me of my sensitivity. Destroying any last bit of strength I had left, I had nothing to do but build it up again so that is what I am doing. I can only fix myself here. It's rather therapeutic if anything. I hate you. I hate me. I hate the world.

But most of all, although I know you'll never read any of this as much as I hope that you might stumble upon this, I just wish you knew how much I miss you.

Admitting that makes me feel extremely brittle and I know that admitting this is nothing but a mistake to do, but if the world is made of liars, I can at least tell the truth to the only one I trust, and even then it's a thin tenuous line, and that person is I.